Hello Yesterday
by emebalia
Summary: A hunt gone wrong, busting out of the hospital, business as usual. Only this time Sam has a rather unusual question.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Yesterday**

"Sam."

A hand grabbed his shoulder and the following shaking sent jolts of pain up through his skull. Weakly he tried to swat the hand away but whoever it belonged to was persistent.

"Sammy, wake up." The voice insisted and he blinked his eyes open. At least he tried to. His eyelids were heavy and he wasn't sure if this was worth the effort, he would like to go back to sleep instead. He wanted to get away from the bright light that was piercing through the small slits that had to count as open eyes, away from the loud voice and the shaking that still went through his body. Going back to unconsciousness where nothing hurt, that sounded like a plan.

He let his eyes drop close but that seemed to be the wrong move.

"Hey, hey, no sleeping." The hand left his shoulder and he sighed in relief but that was short lived. Seconds later it was on his cheek, patting him back to consciousness. "We need to leave. Now."

Leave? He frowned at that but couldn't hold on to that thought. Everything was kinda fuzzy and nothing made sense. He wasn't even sure where he was. There was an antiseptic smell which triggered something in the back of his mind but he couldn't quite grab the meaning of it.

The bed was comfy and warm and he just wanted to drift back to sleep but now that he was awake, more or less, he noticed more details about his condition. His head felt cracked open and every little movement sent lances of hot white pain up his neck to the crown of his head. He tasted bile in the back of his throat and swallowed against it. He was just aware enough to know that throwing up would be real fun in his current state.

"You gonna hurl?" The voice was back but through his watery eyes he only saw the blurred oval of a face swimming on top of a green glob, a shirt or jacket, he couldn't really tell. Then the world tilted when he was rolled to his side.

"Just breathe through it." The hand was on his back now, rubbing his bare skin where the hospital gown gaped open. Hospital gown. Hospital bed. Things started to make sense now.

"You good?" The way too loud voice was back when nothing happened in the throwing up department. He dared to nod to that question and when it didn't make him throw up he was pretty sure that whatever he'd eaten last would stay inside.

"Good." One swift move later he sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the cold floor. He hissed to that sensation but compared to the dull ache in the rest of his body and his cracked head it was nothing. Resting his elbows on his knees and with his head hanging he managed to stay sitting even when the hands left his shoulders.

"Just stay put for a moment." There was clear worry in his voice. "Man, they really did a number on you. Or is this just the good stuff they gave you?"

It didn't sound like there was an answer required so he didn't give one. He wasn't sure if his tongue could even form words, for sure his head couldn't think words right now.

There was some rustling but he was too busy breathing to care what was going on.

"Here, put this on." Something landed in his lap. Clumsily he reached for the ball of fabric and nearly slid off the edge of the bed when suddenly one of his feet lost contact with the floor.

"Work with me here." The voice came from somewhere around his feet now.

He looked down on the brown spot he assumed to be the top of the head. His vision was still blurry but he got the idea and lifted his foot. Together they got him dressed in jeans and shoes which left him exhausted and he really wanted to just tilt to the side and drop back into bed. Just curl up and die.

"C'mon, Sammy." Somebody had other ideas.

The thing in his lap turned out to be a jacket. He hadn't noticed the cast on his arm before but wrestling it through the sleeve made him more than aware of the fact that his arm was busted. He gritted his teeth and bit back a scream.

"Sorry, Sammy." Hands on his neck, straightening the collar of the jacket and then cupping the back of his head which actually felt kinda nice. Grounding. Comforting. Safe.

He breathed easier and was even ready to settle over to the wheelchair which suddenly stood right next to the bed. His legs buckled but there were strong hands helping him and he didn't crash to the floor.

He slumped down in the chair and closed his eyes against the sudden dizziness.

"Just sit tight, I'll get you out of here in no time."

They made their way through long corridors and down an elevator which brought back the nausea but he managed to breathe through that wave as well and they made it outside without an accident. Nobody gave them a second glance and for some reason he couldn't quite remember that was a good thing.

However, thinking wasn't his strong suit at the moment anyway so he just focused on not falling out of the wheelchair and to stay more or less awake. He failed at the latter because suddenly they were at the car and he couldn't recall how they got there.

"Here you go."

Before he even realized what was happening the world spun and when it came to a halt again, he was sitting in the passenger seat and the door closed with a comforting squeak.

"You good, Sammy?" The engine came to life but the purring of the car was not as bad as he'd expected. Quite the opposite. It felt comforting, almost like a lullaby. He slid deeper into the seat and rested his head against the window for a moment to give his body time to adjust to the new position. His head was still killing him and now his arm was throbbing as well and there were more sore spots all over his body but for the moment he was good. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were on the open road, only fields and single trees around them. Slowly he set up a little straighter and had a real look around. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat felt raw and dry but he couldn't bring up enough saliva to change that.

"Water?" A bottle came in is line of sight and he took it greedily. However, he had to use both hands to actually drink from it. With one hand in a cast it wasn't an easy task but he managed.

When half the bottle was gone he trusted his voice enough to speak.

"Ehm." He started but had to clear his throat while he threw a glance over to the driver's seat. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure?" By now his vision was clear enough to read the slightly worried expression on his face.

"Who are you?"

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

He had to brace himself on the dash board when the car came to a sudden halt at the side of the road.

"Shit." The man said and then there was a hand on his neck, soothing away the pain that raced up his spine and exploded in his brain. He blinked against the tears of pain and tried to breath through it without throwing up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The man muttered. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm good." He mumbled and leaned into the touch and breathed a little easier. His vision still swam but the pain wasn't splitting his head open anymore. As long as he didn't move.

"Don't say things like that." The man next to him said with a huff. "Scared the crap out of me for a moment."

He needed a few more slow breaths to compose himself but when he looked up in the end, the face right next to him was as unfamiliar as before. Maybe not exactly unfamiliar, there was something about this man that made him feel safe, but that didn't change the fact that he had no idea who he was.

Thinking about it he had no idea who he was either. He guessed that his name was Sam but only because the other man had used it a few times.

"Who are you?" He repeated his question because at the moment it was more important to him to find out who the other one was than to find out about this Sam guy. His head hurt enough as it was, he couldn't handle too many thoughts at the moment.

The expression on the other man's face changed from slightly worried with a hint of amusement to outright panic.

"What do you mean who I am?" He asked back, his hand sliding from his neck to cupping his cheek and with that the man forced him to look him in the eye. Not that he minded the touch, quite the opposite. By now his head was spinning with questions but that simple touch grounded him. He took a deep breath and had to swallow against a new wave of nausea. He wished he would throw up already just to get it over with but nothing happened. He took another shaky breath before he felt good enough to answer.

"I've no clue who you are."

The man looked at him hard, as if he was hoping to find an answer in his expression, but then he just shook his head slightly.

"I'm Dean." He said as if that name should mean something to him. Which it didn't. "Your brother?"

"Dean, my brother." He repeated the information as if he had to make extra sure to not forget it again. Which was probably necessary. He didn't know. There was way too much stuff he didn't know at the moment.

"And you're Sam, you know that, right?" The man, Dean, ducked his head to lock eyes with him, now the panic concealed under a thin layer of careful blankness. Not that he couldn't see right through it. Dean was losing his shit right in front of him but didn't want to let him know. It felt familiar even when he couldn't put his finger on the why here.

"You called me Sam." He offered as an answer. "Or Sammy, you used that one too."

"But you don't know that that's your name." Dean summed up the situation. "Awesome." He sat back in his seat and washed a hand down his face. "What do you remember?"

Despite the pondering in his head he tried to think about that one. Until now he hadn't bothered with anything else than the present.

"You woke me up in the hospital." That was the first thing he remembered clearly. "You said we had to leave and then we left."

"You have no clue who I am but you come with me when I hustle you out of the hospital?" Dean stared at him in clear disbelieve. "What about _stranger danger_? Ever heard about that one? You're hurt and you leave with a complete stranger." Dean rambled on but he got the feeling that this was only a way to get past the panic. There was something really wrong here and they both knew it. He didn't know much at the moment but this was clear.

"That one blow to the head must have been a good one." Dean said more to himself than to him.

"What now?" He asked. He should be worried, hell, he should freak out right now but this had spiked up the pain again and he tried very hard to not move his head or neck. It was bearable this way but just slightly. Every move sent a lance of blinding hot pain through him.

"Hospital." Dean started the car and a second later they were on the road again.

"We're going back?" That jump of thoughts was a little much to comprehend right now but he did notice that Dean didn't turn the car around.

"That's three hours in the other direction." Dean said with a little smile but it looked forced. "I'd rather get you checked out sooner."

There was nothing else to say to that so Sam, it still felt strange to think of himself by that name, made himself more comfortable again. When he'd found a position where the pain wasn't too bad and he didn't feel like his stomach wanted to turn itself upside down, Sam tried to remember. He tried to find something, anything, from before he had woken up in that hospital bed. But he came up with nothing.

"Don't try too hard." Dean said with a knowing side glance at him. "You'll just make the headache worse."

"It's all gone." He felt close to tears now. "I can't remember a damn thing."

"It's not uncommon with concussions." Dean offered and he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. Or he was just talking out of his ass, Sam wasn't sure.

"You think?" For some stupid reason Dean's words had a calming effect on him.

"Most likely it'll clear off by itself in a bit." He offered but he looked as convinced as Sam felt. "But I'd like to hear that from a doctor." He added and focused on the road again.

"Me too." Sam had a look around the car in the faint hope that something there would trigger a memory but no such luck. Just an old car. Disappointed he closed his eyes again.

"Headache?" Dean asked gently.

"Hmm." He made without opening his eyes. Maybe he could drift back to sleep.

"What other symptoms do you have?"

Now he did blink his eyes open. "Nausea but not too bad."

"How's your vision?"

"Better."

"Better than what?" His voice rose with alarm and Sam winced to that. "Sorry."

"It was blurry at first but it's better now." That was the least of his problems right now. "What happened to me anyway?"

For the first time Dean didn't answer right away. He threw him a glance and then hurried to turn back to the road.

"And why did we have to leave the hospital?" The realization that that wasn't the normal thing to do came late but now that he had realized it he couldn't stop thinking about it. He was in clear need of medical attention, why would Dean bust him out of the hospital?

What was he even doing here in this car? Where they even brothers like Dean had claimed? He had only Dean's word for it. He didn't know him, Dean was a stranger to him.

"Sammy, hey." The hand was on his neck again. "Easy there, we figure this out. It's okay, breathe through it."

He crunched his face in concentration and tried to breathe through the new spark of pain. At least in this point was Dean right, thinking too hard did make his headache worse.

"What happened?" He repeated his question with his head hanging and Dean's hand still in his neck. It felt comforting but if Dean didn't answer his question he would have to reconsider the trust he had in this man.

Dean sighed and Sam braced himself for no answer at all or a lie and he didn't know what would be worse.

"I won't lie to you." Dean said as if he knew exactly what was going on in Sam's head and that alone helped him. Brother or not, Dean knew him and he knew him well.

"But?" He prompted when he didn't continue.

"I don't think you're up for a long and complicated story." Their eyes met for a moment and all Sam could read in his expression was worry and clear affection.

"Just give me the highlights." _Give me something_, he silently pleaded.

"Bottom line, we had a fight with some thugs and you got hit on the head." Dean summed it up. Which didn't help at all.

"We get into fights often?" He asked but couldn't really picture himself in a fight. Did he even know how to throw a punch? Probably not and that was the reason he got hit.

"Way too often." Dean muttered but the words were almost lost on Sam because another realization just hit. He didn't know what he looked like.

"Hey, what …?" Dean protested when Sam yanked the rear view mirror around to have a look at himself.

The sudden movement let his eyes water with pain and suddenly there was too much saliva in his mouth but Sam couldn't care less. He needed to see his face.

There was a stranger looking back at him. He'd kinda noticed the long hair before but hadn't paid much attention to it. Everything else was new to him. Just a random guy.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Is this me?" It was a stupid question but the face was so unfamiliar he just had to ask.

"We're almost at the hospital." Dean reassured him and put his foot down.

With one last look in the mirror Sam slumped back into his seat and waited for the world to stop spinning and his stomach to make up its mind.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and something in his tone made him look up. They had come to a halt in front of what he assumed was a hospital. "I know you don't know me right now and you don't have a reason to trust me but …" He stopped and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to get better, I want you to get your memory back."

"I know." For some reason he felt the need to comfort the other man. He didn't know much about the other man but it was obvious that he cared.

"Your name is Sam Winchester, that's the truth, I swear." Dean leaned over and opened the glove compartment. "And I'm going to explain all this to you as soon as a doctor has seen you and we have a minute but right now just play along, okay?" He was almost pleading in the end and Sam could only nod numbly to that.

Dean got a box out of the compartment and opened it.

"What?" His vision was still a bit blurry around the edges but it was clear enough to make out the badges and cards in the box. A lot of them and they all had his or Dean's face on them.

"We don't have insurance for you under your real name." He fished a card out and put the box back. "So this has to do."

He held the card up and Sam squinted to read the name but it was too blurry. His mind exploded with the implications here and if he added their hurried leave from the other hospital …

"I know this doesn't look good." Dean was reading his mind again. "But please, give me a chance here. Just until the doctors have checked you out."

Sam wanted to say something but when he opened his mouth, his stomach finally decided that it was time to get rid of some ballast.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** _It will become clearer in the next chapter but this story is set in season 2._

* * *

><p>"Shit." He heard Dean over his own heaving and then there were hands on him, manhandling him around. "Just let it out, it's okay, I'll clean her up later. It's okay, Sammy."<p>

The babbling was comforting and so was the hand on his forehead, holding him. After the first wave he was only bringing up bile and not long after that he was dry heaving because his body didn't seem to realize that there was nothing more to throw up.

"You done?" Dean wiped his mouth gently with something wet and then eased him back into the seat until his head rested on the back. He managed a nod but had to swallow against the bile he could still taste in the back of his throat.

"Just sit here for a moment." The hand brushed his sweaty hair out of his face but then it was gone and he heard a door open. "I'll get somebody. Be right back."

He wanted to protest, didn't want to let the other one go, didn't want to be alone, but before he could even open his mouth, the door closed and he was alone in the car. He didn't even need to open his eyes to know that. The only constant thing he had left in his life was gone.

Apparently _head trauma_ were the magic words around here because moments later there were too many people around him. Somebody put a brace around his neck and then they helped him over to a gurney.

"Dean?" He tried to ask but wasn't sure if he really said the word. His brother was lost somewhere behind all those people in white. A woman appeared in his line of view but before he could make out her features she blinded him with a pen light. He tried to close his eyes against the sudden brightness but she held his eye open.

"Dean?" He mumbled again but this time he was pretty sure the word got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

There were tiles over him, a ceiling, and they were moving fast. Voices shouted and everything after that was a blur.

They did stuff to him, with him, but he couldn't tell what they were doing. The woman who had shone a light in his eyes stayed with him most of the time and when her face wasn't just a blurred blob he could tell that she was smiling at him whenever their eyes met. A mechanic but still reassuring smile. He'd rather like to see Dean but his brother was gone.

"Mr. Anderson?" She asked but that name didn't mean anything to him. There was something about the name, he remembered that from the car, right before everything became hectic, but he couldn't make sense out of it.

"Mr. Anderson, can you hear me?" She asked again and he locked eyes with her. She talked to him but everything was happening too fast to comprehend and Sam couldn't focus enough to give her the answers she wanted. He didn't know when he was born or what date it was but when he opened his mouth to tell her that, the heaving started again. Not that there was anything left to throw up but he had to swallow rapidly against the saliva pooling in the back of his throat.

"Turn him to his side." The woman, probably a doctor, caught on to what was happening and they turned him to his side and he didn't feel like choking anymore. Which was good. With a sigh he closed his eyes.

He couldn't tell how he ended up in a hospital bed again but when he came to it was almost like a deja vu.

"Sam?" There was the voice again. This time he recognized it from earlier. There was still nothing from before his first waking up in a hospital bed, that was the first thing he checked, but he did recognize that voice and everything felt better with that.

"Dean?" He mumbled and turned his head in that direction.

"You know who I am?" The excitement was clearly in his voice and Sam felt almost bad to crush it.

"From earlier." He said and blinked his eyes open. "Still nothing before that, sorry."

"Don't be." Dean was closer now, standing at the side of his bed. "You scared me, little brother." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder as if he needed to make sure that he was really there.

"Sorry." He repeated. He took a moment to take stock of his body. The pain in his head had subdued to a dull ache he could ignore and the rest of his body was blissfully numb. "They gave me something for the pain?"

"And something for the nausea." Satisfied Dean sat down in his chair again. "You puked all over me in the car." There was no heat in that accusation so Sam allowed the smile on his lips to show.

"How bad is it?" Except for the memory loss he felt kinda good. But with the strong pain medication in his system it was hard to tell what condition he was in.

"Really bad concussion." Dean let out a sigh. "So far no bleeding in your brain but they want to have a close eye on you for at least 24 hours. That's why you're hooked up to that thing." He made a gesture at something behind him and Sam turned his head to have a look.

He hadn't notice the soft beeping and the wires attaching him to the machine before. For a moment he watched his own heart beat, it seemed normal to him but he wasn't a doctor. At least not that he knew. Maybe he was.

That brought back other memories. At the moment there was not much he did remember so the few bits he had where right on top of his mind.

"They have any idea when I'll get my memory back?" He asked the more harmless question first.

"They don't know." Dean rubbed his face. "You weren't of much help earlier so they want to do more tests once you're awake. But the doc was talking about a side effect of the concussion and that your memory can come back any moment now."

Sam lay back and closed his eyes to that. He knew that Dean was giving him the optimistic version here. He was pretty sure that the doctor couldn't really tell and her true answer probably had been more along the line of "We have to wait and see.".

"They did tell me that I should consider pressing charges against the other hospital for just slapping a brace on your arm and letting you go like this." He chuckled to himself but it sounded forced. "I'm sorry, I thought it was just a mild concussion, you know, something we can deal with ourselves …" His voice trailed off and Sam blinked his eyes open at that. Dean looked haggard.

"Why did we have to leave?" He asked. He still didn't feel like he could deal with something complex, exhaustion was already pulling him under, but he needed to know. He needed to know if he could trust Dean. Deep down in his guts he knew he could trust him with his life but his head was telling him that he didn't know this man.

"We kinda left a mess behind." Dean leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, but he didn't break eye contact with Sam. "They were about to ask questions we couldn't answer."

"That's not cryptic at all." Sam breathed out a laugh and fought against his dropping eyelids.

"I know." Dean gave him a little smile. "But I doubt you can stay awake long enough for the full version. I know how this must look like but we are the good guys here. You are a good guy."

With those words in his ear he drifted off to sleep.

He woke to voices next to him.

"Dean?" He fought his way to consciousness and smacked his dry lips. Immediately there was a straw poking at his lips.

"Small sips." Dean told him. The water tasted delicious and he drank greedily.

"Mr. Anderson?" Another voice spoke up and a woman stepped around the bed to his other side. He let go of the straw and focused on her. He'd seen her before but he couldn't remember the name.

"Please, Doc." Dean spoke up. "Call him Sam. Mr. Anderson is our father."

"If that's alright with you?" She asked him and Sam nodded. By now he was used to Sam, the other name just felt weird. And if he recalled correctly Anderson wasn't really his last name. Dean had told him his real one but he couldn't remember it at the moment and why they needed to use a fake name he wasn't sure either. Something about insurance? He rubbed his temple against the spiking headache. He shouldn't think too hard right now.

He blinked at the doctor still standing at his side with a watchful eye on him.

"I'm Doctor Marshal." She introduced herself. "How do you feel, Sam?"

"Good." He said but then thought about the question for a moment. "A bit of a headache."

He didn't feel great but not really bad either. He was still on the good stuff, that much he could tell.

"I'm going to check your pupils now." She announced and took out a pen light. Sam sighed but cooperated. "Okay, that looks good."

Had it not looked good before, he wondered but before he could ask that question, she continued to speak: "How about the nausea?"

"I'm good." At least that was completely gone. But so was his memory and that was the important thing here. "Why can't I remember?"

"Mr. Anderson …" She paused with a soft little smile. "Sam, you have what we call a mild traumatic brain injury." She let the words sink in for a moment.

"Mild's good, right?" Dean spoke up with clear hope in his voice but Sam was more stuck on the brain injury part.

"It's the medical term for what's commonly known as a concussion." She explained. "Amnesia can be one of the symptoms. Sam, what do you remember?"

"Leaving the other hospital." He answered truthfully. He probably should tell her that Dean had busted him out, that he basically had been abducted but for some reason he kept his mouth shut on that and played along. For now. Until Dean had a chance to explain himself. He didn't know why but he felt like he owed the other man that much. "It's kinda fuzzy but I remember Dean helping me into the car."

"So you can form new memories." She wrote something on the chart in her hand. "That's good."

"I can't remember anything before that. I don't know who I am or who he is." He pointed at Dean who looked hurt at those words. "I only know that he's my brother because he told me so."

She made another note. "I've scheduled you for a few tests today, that should give us a clearer picture."

"But he's going to get his memories back, right?" Dean asked. His hand had found Sam's – or was it the other way around? – and now they were just holding on to each other.

"In most cases it comes back, given time." She answered rather vaguely and with that she left. A nurse would take Sam to his tests in a bit.

"Awesome." Dean slumped back into his chair. "Most cases, what kind of an answer is that?"

Sam had to agree with him, _most cases_ held the bitter aftertaste of _sometimes not_.


	4. Chapter 4

They did tests. Not for all of them Dean was allowed to stay and during those Sam felt the most alone. Dean was the only person he knew and without him he had nothing to hold on to. Which was weird because basically Dean was a stranger to him as well.

At least the results were reassuring. Sam could feel his body, could wiggle his fingers and toes, could see and hear, had no problems reading and writing and all in all he was fine except for his memory. That still wasn't back after two days. He didn't even have flashbacks or dreams, it was frustrating.

Sam felt tired most of the time due to the concussion and the pain medication they were giving him for the headache and he was more sleeping than not.

The times he wasn't sleeping, Dean talked to him. He told him that their mother died when they were little and that their dad had passed away recently.

"How?" Sam asked and searched in his mind for something he connected with the man. He'd just learned that his father was dead but he felt nothing. It was like they were talking about a stranger.

"The aftermath of a car accident." Dean answered rather vaguely.

"Dean?" Sam sat up a little straighter in bed.

"Can we leave the details for another time?" Dean almost pleaded and Sam could only nod. There were emotions flashing over Dean's face he didn't want to see there.

"So I went to Stanford?" Sam came back to something Dean had told him earlier. He didn't remember any of it but he knew the name and that it was a big deal.

"On a full ride." Dean smiled broadly at him. "You met Jess there." His face fell and Sam knew that whoever Jess was, it didn't end well.

"She was my girlfriend?" He guessed.

"You loved her." Dean said with a sad smile. "She died in a fire."

Stunned Sam just stared at his brother. He didn't know what to say. Dean told him that the woman he loved was dead and he didn't know how to react to that.

"You and me went on a road trip after her funeral." Dean continued but Sam got the feeling that there was more to it. Dean was telling the truth, he was sure about that, but he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Then dad died …" He shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of some bad memories. "We just never stopped. That's why we stay at motels most of the time."

"We don't have a home?" Dean had mentioned that before but for some reason it still wrenched his guts. Even if he had a home he wouldn't remember it but it still felt wrong. "What are we, some kind of drifters?" He joked but the words died on his lips when he saw the expression on Dean's face.

"From time to time we crash at Bobby's." Dean had to clear his throat. "We probably should do that as soon as you're feeling better. But for now I've booked us a room here in town for, you know, for when you get out of here." He made a vague gesture around the room.

Doctor Marshal had been talking about releasing him soon. Physically he just needed to rest and let his head heal and he could do that more comfortably at home, she had said. Familiar surroundings could help triggering his memory but he doubted a random motel room would do the trick. Maybe Bobby's place but that was only a name to him.

"Stop thinking so hard." Dean huffed. "Feel up for a game of poker?" He nodded towards the cards they'd left on the nightstand earlier.

Memory was a weird thing, Sam had found out. He still could play poker, not very good with his concussion and high on meds but he knew the rules.

He couldn't for the life of his name the current president but if he started with George Washington he could rattle off every single one of them with dates and everything. Doctor Marshal had compared that to a phenomena related to dementia. Apparently things you'd learned in a young age often stay while more recent memories just vanish. Patients with dementia often couldn't tell what they had for breakfast but knew nursery rhymes or poems they'd learned by heart in school. Apparently Sam's situation was similar to that. Sam doubted that the Pledge of Allegiance or the Star-Spangled Banner would help him out in the long run but for some reason Dean grinned to that revelation as if it was actually something useful but when Sam had asked what was on his mind Dean had dismissed it.

They played a few hands of poker, Sam lost every single one of them but that wasn't the point, before exhaustion took over and Sam drifted back to sleep.

Sam was released the next day. Dean brought him some clothes he claimed where his and they fit, Sam had to give him that, but he wondered why someone would wear so many layers of shirts.

Dean went to get his meds and to schedule his next appointment and then it was time to leave.

Sam felt a wave of panic washing over him. He was about to leave with a man he got to know a bit over the last few days but that was it. He knew Dean for less than a week and still he was about to just leave with him. Dean had said he'd a motel room for them and Sam believed him but he couldn't shake off the thought that once he was in the car Dean could take him to wherever he wanted and nobody would ever know.

_You didn't have that problem when you left with him the first time_, a helpful little voice in the back of his mind provided. Which was true but back then he had been barely conscious. Now he knew that there were things not adding up, things Dean wasn't telling him.

As far as he could tell Dean had never lied to him but there were certain topics he didn't want to discuss while they were in the hospital. Sneaking out of a hospital, using fake insurance cards, that kind of stuff. Things that made Sam wonder if they were some kind of criminals. Or maybe he'd just been watching too many soap operas over the last few days.

"You ready to go?" Dean nudged the wheelchair closer, waiting for Sam to get his butt in there. He could walk just fine but the hospital policy insisted on the chair. Insurance or something.

Sam nodded but didn't move just yet.

"Sam." Dean said in a soft voice. "You trust me, right?"

Now Sam couldn't help the little smile forming on his lips. He may not know Dean but for sure Dean knew him.

"Yeah, I trust you." And with that he moved over to the chair. "But you still owe me an explanation." He didn't need to elaborate, Dean nodded knowingly to his words.

"I know." Dean said with a sigh and got the wheelchair in motion. "Just give me a chance and hear me out before you run, okay?"

"Of course." With Dean behind him he couldn't see his face but the tone of his voice told him enough. And it didn't help to put his mind to ease. Whatever Dean was hiding, it was big. And probably illegal. On their way out of the hospital Sam played out every scenario in his mind he could think of that would explain the bits about his life he knew. None if them shone a good light on him and Dean and he wondered if it wouldn't be better if he'd never get his memories back. A new start, not many got that chance.

Despite his wariness Sam fell asleep in the car before they'd even left the parking lot. He fought to keep his eyes open but the heavy medication and the purr of the engine lulled him to sleep within second.

"Sam!"

Sam startled awake.

"How to kill a werewolf?"

"Silver bullet to the heart." He answered without thinking, still trying to figure out where he was and who'd been yelling at him. Only with a delay he realized what he'd just said.

"Werewolf?" He asked. At least by now he'd recognized the car and the man in the driver's seat. They were in another parking lot and he guessed the building in front of him was the motel Dean had been talking about.

"Never mind." Dean said but he was grinning like an idiot.

"Dean." Sam called after him when the other man left the car. "What's with the werewolf?"

"Let's get settled first." Dean answered him from inside the trunk from where he came up a second later with Sam's bag.

Still confused Sam didn't even mind the hovering on the short way over to their room. Dean opened the door for him and Sam stepped through but stopped almost immediately to take in his surroundings.

His eyes fell on the two beds.

"I hope you don't mind." Dean had followed his gaze. "We usually have a room together, I thought it might trigger something." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I can get us a second room if you feel better that way."

"No." Sam hurried to say. For a second he hadn't been sure how he felt about the idea of Dean and him sharing a room but there had been no doubt about the second room idea. It was stupid but he didn't want to leave Dean out of his sight. The nights in the hospital had been long enough.

"Awesome." Dean strode past him and placed Sam's bag on the bed farther into the room. The one near the door had obviously been used and it just felt right that way.

"Nice room." Sam said just to fill the silence.

"Yeah." Dean turned towards him, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "A little more upscale than our usual motels. Since we're probably staying for a while …"

Sam nodded to that and moved over to the table at the window. He needed to sit down. Dean was at his side in an instant.

"Here." He helped him into the chair. "You need something? Water? Your meds?"

"I'm fine." Sam assured him and he was. Still a bit weak and his head was pounding with his heartbeat but all in all he was fine. "Okay, what was that about the werewolf?"

"I knew you would remember." Dean seemed rather proud of himself.

"So you're telling me that I like horror movies?" He didn't get it, why was Dean so happy about him knowing a random fact like this?

"Not quite." Came his rather cryptic answer. Ignoring him for the moment Dean opened his own bag, searching for something.

"Dean." He let his frustration show in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah." With what looked like a magazine and a stack of paper in his hands Dean came over and set down across from him. He handed him the magazine and a blank piece of paper. Sam took it but had no idea what Dean expected him to do with it.

"You still owe me an explanation." He reminded him.

"We'll get to that." Dean gave him a pen. "But first, could you do me a favor and copy one of the articles?"

"What?" Sam stared at him, trying to figure out if it had been a mistake to trust this man but all he could read in Dean's face was insecurity and something close to fear. "Why?"

Now Dean sighed. "There is a huge part of your life that is hard to believe and even harder to prove. I figured that you'd believe yourself more than me."

Dean still had the stack of papers in front of him, lying upside down so Sam couldn't read them but he could tell that they were written by hand. Getting the idea he opened the magazine and started writing.

"That should be enough." Dean stopped him when he reached the bottom of the page. Sam put the pen down and waited for Dean's next move.

For a long moment it looked like his brother would back out, which only made Sam more wary of what he was about to find out.

"You're lucky we had to leave in a hurry." Dean handed him the papers. "We didn't have time to clean this stuff out."

"What is this?" Sam flipped through the pages filled with what he now recognized as his own handwriting.

"This is your research for our last job."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is this?" After the first quick skimming through Sam was now actually reading the notes. The handwriting was mainly his with notes and small paragraphs in a different one thrown in, which he assumed was Dean's. But there was more. Pictures, reports, articles. Everything looked official and he wondered how they had gotten their hands on those. His memory wasn't the best right now but he was pretty sure that the police didn't hand out stuff like this to random people.

"Turned out it was a special kind of ghost. A group actually." Dean explained and waved over the papers. "You had a fancy name for it, it's somewhere in there."

"Ghosts?" Sam looked up, searching for a hint in Dean's expression that this was some kind of prank. But Dean looked dead serious. "Is this some kind of game we play?"

It was the only explanation he could come up with. Except for actually ghost hunting. Or insanity, that one came to mind too.

"I wish." Dean shook his head. "I know this is hard to believe but ghosts are real."

"Ghosts?" Sam repeated dumbfounded.

"Ghosts, vampires, werewolves." Dean named a few common monsters. "They are all real and we hunt them."

"Hunt them?"

"Jeez, how did you make it to Stanford?" Dean let out a nervous chuckle.

"Can't remember." Sam joked, glad for the mood lifter. Dean must be yanking his chain here, he wouldn't put it beyond his brother, but the papers in his hands looked too real. Whatever this was he had been part of it. Maybe they were both delusional.

"Okay, let's pretend for a moment that you're not insane." Sam put the papers down, this was just so surreal. "How does this work? We just stumble around till we find a ghost?"

Dean eyed him for a moment as if he tried to figure out what was going on in his mind. When Sam didn't show any intention to run he reached for the notes.

"Not quite." He fished out one article, clearly ripped out of an actual newspaper, and pushed it over to Sam. "We look out for something like this. Freaky accidents, deaths the police can't explain, everything that looks like something supernatural going on."

Sam read the article more to gain some time to sort his thoughts than anything else. It was just a short note, barely saying anything beyond the fact that there had been a series of accidents in an amusement park.

"We check it out." Dean continued. "Sometimes it's a bust, a human killer or a rogue animal, then we leave it to the locals to deal with it."

"And if it's not?" Sam asked, his mind swirling with all the implications here.

"Then we find out what it is." Dean gestured over the papers. "And stop it."

"Stop it?" Sam licked his lips. "Like …?" He didn't dare to finish that sentence. What if they were two fucked up serial killers who killed innocent people they saw as monsters?

"Sam, we're not some nutjobs on a killing spree." Dean read his mind again. "Some things have to be stopped with a bullet. Werewolves for example."

"Silver bullet to the heart." Sam mumbled to himself. It knotted his guts and his mouth was too dry all of a sudden.

"Most things take a bit more effort." Dean said with a tight smile. "Ghosts usually take a lot of digging."

"Graves." Sam said without thinking. "You have to dig up the graves."

"That's right, Sammy." Dean was now leaning forward, a close eye on Sam, waiting for more memories to come up, they both were, but there was nothing. Only this one little bit. Sam let out a frustrated huff.

"Salt and burn the remains." Dean said as if that should mean something to Sam which it didn't. "That's when you got hit on the head." He continued when there was nothing coming from Sam. "Ghosts don't like it when you dig them up."

The pounding in his head was now close to an eye watering migraine, this was too much. With a groan Sam buried his face in his hands.

"Hey." Suddenly Dean was next to him with a glass of water and his pain medication. "Take it easy."

Sam took the pills and wanted nothing more than to just drop on his bed and sleep it off but there was too much going on in his head, he doubted he would find sleep any time soon.

"You still okay with one room?" Dean asked and sat down in his chair again. "Wouldn't blame you if you want some distance from me after this."

"One room is still okay." He even managed a smile. He probably should run as fast as he could but that offer alone reinforced his faith in Dean. He couldn't explain it but he trusted this man. Even when he shouldn't because c'mon ghosts?

"You're taking this better than I thought." Dean commented.

"I'm not sure if I'm taking it at all. This is …" He had no words for this. "Why us?"

For a long moment Dean didn't answer. He avoided Sam's eyes and fiddled with one piece of paper, clearly pondering if he should give Sam an easy answer or the full truth.

"When we were little." He finally started. "Our mom was killed by something supernatural."

Sam sucked in a breath. Dean had told him that their mother was dead but he had left out the circumstances.

"She burned on the ceiling. That's how Dad knew it wasn't something you can explain." Dean's voice was all husky now and his eyes too bright but Sam pretended to not notice.

"That's how Dad become a hunter, he wanted to find and kill the thing that murdered her. We grew up with this life."

"Did he find it?" Sam asked.

"No." Dean shook his head. "But he found out that it was a demon. The same demon that killed your girlfriend the same way it killed Mom. In the end it took Dad, too."

Sam sat back in his chair. He didn't know if he believed what Dean was telling him, probably not, but he could clearly tell that Dean believed it.

"Dad had a journal, you can have a look if you want." Dean offered and then a warm smile ghosted over his lips. "That's how you found out about monsters the first time around, you snagged Dad's journal and read it."

A while later Dean left to get them something for dinner but the main reason was to give Sam some time to think. He didn't say it but they both knew that that was the reason and Sam appreciated it. He needed time to think.

"You'll still be here when I come back?" Dean had asked and Sam had to admit his fear wasn't coming out of nowhere. Every sane person would run after a revelation like this but he had no intention to leave and he told Dean so.

It was more the other way around. When he heard the car disparaging in the distance, he felt alone and for a second he was sure that Dean wouldn't come back.

"Should have gone with him." He muttered to himself.

To keep his mind busy he went through the notes again. Ghosts and demons, it was a lot to take in but he couldn't deny that this was thorough research, in his handwriting no less, and if he accepted ghosts as a reasonable explanation it all made sense.

Dean had left their dad's journal on the table but so far Sam hadn't gathered enough courage to open it. According to Dean he would find way more than just ghosts and demons in there and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. His mind was swirling enough as it was.

He let the journal be for the moment and went for a shower instead. After days in a hospital bed with only one quick shower with Dean pacing nervously just outside the bathroom Sam needed to wash off the sweat and the hospital stink.

He let the hot water massage the tight muscles in his neck and even his headache subdued to that but it sucked all the energy out of him. He had just enough left to put on some sweatpants and crawl in his bed. His intention was to wait for Dean but he was sound asleep a second later.

He woke up in a dim room he didn't recognize. So far he'd always woken up in a hospital room which this was clearly not, even in the poor light he could tell that. Sam bolted upright, rising panic made his heart jump in his throat, but when he had a frantic look around he noticed the second bed. And the outlines of somebody sleeping under the covers.

Dean. He was with Dean. Breathing in relief Sam sank back in his pillow. He had been released from the hospital and was now staying with Dean in a motel, he remembered that now.

Without waking Dean, it was 4:30 in the morning, he slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He didn't feel tired anymore and his headache was barely there this morning so he dressed and made himself a coffee in the kitchenette the room provided. In the small fridge he found the food Dean had brought him for dinner and he decided that chicken noodle soup would make a good breakfast as well.

With his coffee and the soup, both steaming hot just like he needed it, he returned to the table. Everything was still there but in a neat stack near the edge.

Sam could picture Dean sitting here, eating his food, while Sam had slept right through it. Now Sam sat here and he couldn't help but look over to Dean who was still snoring softly.

Feeling better this morning he reached for the journal.

He was half-way through it, he was just skimming through on the most part, when Dean finally poked his head up.

"You awake?" Dean mumbled at his sight and rubbed the sleep off his face. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight." Sam answered, looking up from the journal. He'd expected it to be all about monsters but there was personal stuff in there too. Not much and not nearly enough but it was enough to draw a picture of what their lives had been and apparently still were.

"Do I smell coffee?" Dean sat up with a hopeful expression on his face.

Sam raised his cup to him, indicating with a nod that there was more waiting for him.

"But we only have leftovers for breakfast." He added.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll make a breakfast run." Dean offered. "Or we could go and check out that diner I saw at the corner. If you're up for that."

"Going out sounds good." Sam nodded to that. He'd been stuck in a hospital room for too long, he had no intention to get stuck in a motel room as well. But first he had a question for Dean.

"I get why you showed me this." He gestured over the research papers. At his words Dean froze sitting on the edge of the bed. "It explains some things that didn't add up. Thanks for taking that risk by the way, I could have run the second you mentioned ghosts." He smiled and after a second Dean returned the gesture, awkwardly avoiding his eyes.

"You thought we were criminals." Dean justified his decision. "It was the only way to set things straight."

"Yeah, I get that." He looked down at the papers. "And this is pretty solid proof, not that I can say I truly believe all this but I get that we're trying to do the right thing here."

There was a moment of silence before Dean spoke up: "I sense a but coming."

"This would have been enough. At least to get me thinking and to give you a chance." Sam shook his head, searching for the right words. "Why did you throw in the demon? That's big and so far I haven't seen any proof for that. I only have your word that this thing killed our parents and my girlfriend. You could have left that for later, why didn't you?" It made no sense.

Now Dean sighed, eyes fixed on his hands hanging between his knees.

"This demon isn't done with us. With you."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't know its endgame but it has plans for you and others like you." Dean said and when he looked up his eyes shone too bright. "I told you because you can get hit by a vision any second and that's scary enough when you know what's happening."


	6. Chapter 6

Ghosts and monsters were on thing, for some reason Sam had accepted them quite easily, maybe because he grew up with that knowledge at least according to Dean.

But visions? That was personal. Basically Dean was telling him that he wasn't normal, that this demon had done something to him. And that they had no idea what the plan behind it was. Only that Sam wasn't the only one.

When Sam asked about the others, Dean just told him that they had abilities as well but refused to tell him more. Sam let it drop for the moment but he was sure that there was more to it and that it wasn't good news.

However, by now he knew his brother well enough to know that he wouldn't get more out of Dean, at least for now. So he just filed it under things he'd need to come back to and changed the topic.

"I'm starving." Sam announced. "Breakfast?"

Dean eyed him for a second as if he could see right through his deflecting which he probably did.

"Sure." He didn't mention the soup Sam had earlier and went for the bathroom instead. "Just give me a minute."

Fifteen minutes later they were in the car, heading for the diner Dean had gotten their dinner from. Sam couldn't care less where they went, his mind was buzzing with the new information. He would believe the visions when he got one and if he was honest he was kinda curious but for now he tried to not think too much about it. Just like his memories he couldn't force it and had to wait for things to happen. And just like his memories his visions kept him waiting.

The diner wasn't packed and they got a booth in the back. Sam slit in his seat opposite from Dean and had a look around. It was a diner like million others, nothing special about it. The rich aroma of fresh coffee filled the air along with the sweet warmth of pancakes. Blueberry pancakes were today's special Sam learned from a sign behind the counter and his stomach gave an approving grumble. At least the breakfast question was settled with that.

Returning his attention to Dean he noticed that his brother was watching him like a hawk.

"No memories." Sam knew what he was waiting for. "But I have the feeling that this is not my first time having breakfast at a diner."

"We usually eat out." Dean took a sip from his coffee. "You okay? Did you take your meds before we left?"

That wasn't really what he was asking here, Sam knew that.

"I'm fine." And he wasn't only referring to his headache which barely counted as one today. He did feel good.

Dean nodded to that and before he could say something their waitress was there to take their orders.

Sam ordered the pancake special which got him an amused glance from Dean.

"What?" He asked when the waitress left. "Not my usual breakfast?"

"It's not that. You do eat pancakes. On occasion." Dean confirmed. "You just usually go for a short stack."

"Oh." Sam made but then he shrugged. "I skipped dinner last night and only had the soup earlier, I'm hungry."

"Hey." Dean raised his hand in defense. "Not complaining over here. I'm telling you for years that you should eat more."

A few minutes later their meals arrived. Biting back his laughter Sam took in the sight in front of him. Then he made the mistake and looked over to Dean. Their eyes met and they burst out laughing.

"Can you even see over that?" Dean brought the words out between harsh breaths, gasping for air.

"Barely." Shaking Sam held his stomach, trying to at least keep it down enough to not draw too much attention. He wiped tears from his eyes and reached for the fork, a determined look on his face.

"Go for it, tiger." Dean cheered him on, stifling a laugh behind his fist.

They needed a few minutes to compose themselves because every time their eyes met, a new wave of laughter shook through them.

Somehow they did manage to eat their breakfast but just like Dean had predicted Sam didn't even made it half-way through his pancake mountain. Which totally was because of his gimp arm. How was he supposed to eat properly handicapped like this?

But if he was honest, it didn't bother him that much. Most of the time he could almost forget that his arm was broken as well. As if he was used to it.

"Yeah." Dean made when he mentioned it. "You broke your arm not long ago."

"How did that happen?"

"Zombie chick." Dean grinned at him. "You're just too fragile."

"I've looked at myself in the mirror." Sam countered and followed Dean out of the diner. "Fragile is not the first thing coming to mind." If he was honest, he had been shocked how tall he was and how much muscle he hid under those layers of clothes.

"I bet." Dean gave him a meaningful glance in the general direction of his groin.

"Get your mind out of the gutter." Sam playfully slapped his shoulder.

Sam didn't say it but this little trip had sucked out all his energy and when he sank into the passenger seat he had to suppress a content sigh.

"We should go back to the motel." Dean said and started the car. "It's still early, you can take a nap before we go to see Doc Marshal."

"I'm not a baby, I don't need a nap." Sam protested halfheartedly. Maybe not napping but stretching out on the bed, that sounded good. And if he drifted off to sleep it totally wouldn't count as a nap.

"You said the same thing when you were two."

"You're just making this up because I can't remember."

"Sure."

The banter felt good, natural, like a thing brothers would do. Like something he'd done all his life. Sam was too tired to chase after the memories hidden behind that feeling, knowing that it would be a lost cause anyway.

Sitting next to Dean with the music blaring out of the speakers Sam couldn't help but wonder how easily he'd accepted Dean as his brother. He just really wished he could remember him, he seemed to be an awesome guy.

Back at the motel Sam did fall asleep only minutes after he'd kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.

Dean woke him in time for his appointment to which Sam was looking forward with mixed feelings. He felt good so he was pretty sure that there was nothing to worry about physically but so far his amnesia problem hadn't changed in the slightest. By now he'd expected to at least get some flashbacks or dreams or something, anything, but all he got was dark emptiness when he tried to think of anything from before Dean had woken him up in that hospital bed. Okay, once or twice he had the feeling of familiar as if he'd seen or done something before but it never went beyond a vague feeling.

"Sam." Doctor Marshal greeted first him and then Dean with a warm smile. "How do you feel?"

"Good." He answered truthfully and felt both, Dean and Doc Marshal, watching him closely. "My head feels better."

"That's good but I'd like to do a few tests just to make sure."

Sam nodded to that. He felt good but that didn't mean that there wasn't something going on in his head. Cranial bleeding had been one of the things the doctor had been worried about earlier.

"Something you can do for his memory?" Dean asked despite the fact that she had stated the other day that there was nothing they could do to help Sam there. But Sam had the feeling that Dean wasn't the wait and see kind of guy.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "But if he comes back clear from the tests he's free to go." She turned back to Sam. "You need to rest but you don't have to do that here. I suggest a familiar environment, people and places you know. But don't push it." The last bit was directed at both of them. "It would be best if Dean explained it to the people you'll have around beforehand. And make sure they don't come on too strong, this is going to be overwhelming enough for Sam."

"Of course, Doc." Dean nodded with an earnest expression and Sam could already picture him as some kind of watchdog who would protect him from overbearing people. With a gun if necessary.

They did the tests and the doctor seemed satisfied with the results.

"You should see a doctor for your arm in three weeks, sooner if you have problems with it. Finish the pills you have and then use these if you need them." She gave him the prescription for a milder pain reliever. "And Sam." She locked eyes with him. "If you get symptoms like a bad headache, nausea, double vision or anything like that …"

"I'll drag his ass to the next ER." Dean promised.

"I see you're in good hands."

"I am." Sam said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean beaming to that and he bit back a smile.

"Good luck, Sam." They shook hands and with that he was free to go.

They didn't talk on their way back to the motel, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"What do you want to do now?" Dean asked when they were back in their room.

"Now or in the long run?" Sam shrugged off his jacket and sat down at the table. He could go for another nap but for now he was content with just sitting here.

"Both." Dean took a seat as well. "For today I'd suggest we order in, watch a movie and I'll tuck you in after you've fallen asleep twenty minutes in."

Sam glared at him but couldn't deny that that would have been his idea for the evening as well. Except for the tucking in part.

"And for the long run?" Sam asked. He knew they didn't have a place they called home so sticking to familiar places like Doctor Marshal had suggested would be difficult.

"That's up to you. We can stay here for a little while longer if you want." Dean shifted and Sam knew there was something on his mind. "Or I was thinking we could visit Bobby. We spent a lot of time at his place when we were little."

Sam only knew the man from Dean's stories but the way his brother had talked about him he was curious to meet him.

"I'd like that."

"Sweet, I'll give him a call that we're coming." Dean reached for his phone but then paused. "You want to talk to him? He'd like to hear your voice."

"No." The word came out harsher than intended but Sam wasn't ready to talk to a stranger who apparently knew him. "I'd rather wait till I see him." He added in a softer tone.

After Dean had made the call, Bobby seemed to be really worried about Sam and was happy to have them over for a while, they settled in for a lazy evening.

Early the next morning they packed the car and were ready to go before nine. It would take them at least two days to get to Bobby and Sam was looking forward to the trip. According to Dean they spent a lot of time in the car and he was hoping that this trip would shake loose some memories.

They left the parking lot and neither of them noticed the car parked on the other side of the street. Or the man inside, watching them.


	7. Chapter 7

The first few hours on the road Sam asked every question he could think of about Bobby. He was looking forward to see this man but at the same time he was worried, almost scared. According to Dean they knew Bobby since they'd been kids and the man was something like a fatherly friend to them. Dean showed him a picture, them with Bobby, and for such young kids the guns in their hands looked awfully big. But all three of them smiled into the camera like they were having fun.

He could see Dean in the older kid and a younger version of the face he'd learned to recognize as his own in the small child sitting in the man's lap. The man, however, was a stranger to him. There was not that much of his face he could see between the trucker cap and the beard but he was smiling and young Sam was leaning against his chest, trusting and relaxed. His younger self had felt comfortable with this man.

It could have been just an ordinary snap shot of a family if it hadn't been for the gun in his and Dean's hand.

He wondered not for the first time what kind of father trained his kids to fight monster at an age that young. John Winchester apparently did.

"We spent the summer at Bobby's." Dean explained. "This was when Dad came to pick us up. We hadn't practiced with the guns as much as we should, Bobby always tried to let us just be kids most of the time." He paused, a wistful expression on his face and suddenly Sam had to blink against misty eyes.

"We were kids." Sam pointed out.

"Not really." Dean muttered more to himself than anything else.

Sam looked out of the window and just watched the landscape passing by. The scenery hadn't changed since they'd left the town but the monotony was comforting. He let his mind drift and was close to dozing off, the purr of the engine a lullaby in his ears.

"Listen to her purr. Have you ever heard anything so sweet?" Sam thought he heard Dean's voice. Maybe it was just in his head, he wasn't sure.

"Hm?" He made but was too content to turn his head. Dean didn't answer and just kept tapping the beat of a Metallica song on the steering wheel.

"Purr." Sam mumbled. "She's good as new, you fixed her up real good."

"What?" Dean stopped the drumming and for a second the car drifted to the side of the road before he had it back under control again.

"You fixed her up real good." Sam repeated but then stopped, realizing what he'd just said.

"You remember that?" Dean did a poor job at concealing his excitement.

"She was totaled." He was sure about that. He'd no idea when or how it happened but he knew for certain that the car had been t-boned.

"Yeah, there was an accident." Dean prompted.

Searching for more Sam only ran into the dark wall of nothingness again. Just this one bit and nothing more.

"Sorry." He said meekly after a moment. "What happened?"

"One of the demon's minions." Dean explained. "He rammed us with a semi. You got out with light injuries and Dad looked fine at first, too. He died later in the hospital."

The way Dean said it Sam knew there was more to it but that wasn't the direction his mind wanted to go right now. An image flashed in his mind. Dean in a hospital bed, pale with a tube down his throat, the beeping of the machines that were keeping him alive.

"You were in a coma." He paused, searching for more. "I was scared."

Dean could die. Sam was alone. He could lose Dean and he had no idea what to do.

With his arms wrapped tightly around his body to hold himself together he drowned in emotions suddenly washing over him.

"I'm here." Dean's hand was on the nape of his neck, squeezing gently.

Sam nodded and swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"This is stupid." He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. He took a deep breath and slowly the emotions died down, leaving him hollow.

"You okay now?" Dean asked but left his hand where it was. It was more comforting than Sam would ever admit and it helped him to let go of the memory and to come back to the here and now.

"I'm good."

"What just happened?" Dean ask. "A vision?"

"Memory." At least he thought so. Only now he noticed that they were no longer driving. The engine was still on but they stood on the shoulder of the road.

"I saw you." Sam had to clear his throat. "In the hospital. And for a moment … I felt … I felt like I had then." He wasn't sure if that even made sense but when he glanced over to his brother he read understanding in his eyes.

"That's good." Dean gave his neck a last squeeze and then let go of him. "You're starting to remember. That's good."

Sam wasn't so sure about that. If there were more memories with this kind of emotions tied to them waiting for him, he wasn't keen on finding out.

His episode left him drained and tired so he wasn't complaining when Dean stopped for the night rather early.

In the morning Sam was pretty sure that he had dreamed for the first time since he could remember but the images faded away and by the time he was awake enough to make sense out of them they were gone. For a moment he just lay there with his eyes closed and tried to recall what his dreams had been about but except for a vague feeling of sadness he came up with nothing.

"Can't force it." He reminded himself and rolled out of bed. After a quick shower, he seemed to be a master at showering with a cast on his arm, he felt refreshed and rather hungry but when he came back out of the bathroom Dean was still sound asleep. A quick look at the alarm clock confirmed that it was only 6:30 in the morning, too early to wake Dean.

So Sam scribbled a quick note and then left to get them some breakfast. The morning was nice and he'd seen a diner not far down the road when they'd come here yesterday so he didn't take the car, Dean would kill him if he did, and walked the short distance.

Hands deep in his pockets he thought about the fact that he had noticed the diner. They had been looking for a motel, food hadn't been on his mind and still he'd looked out for it. He also knew that there was a laundromat a bit farther down the street and he knew the quickest way out of town.

He could only guess but this had to be due to his life on the road with Dean. The last bit, however, confused him. Until he thought of his rather abrupt leave from the first hospital. Maybe knowing the quickest way out of a place came in handy in their line of work.

Dean had told him that they were hunting monsters and Sam had read their dad's journal but so far it had all been theory.

"Should ask Dean more about the practical side of this hunting stuff." Sam mumbled to himself when he reached the diner. They had another day in the car ahead which had the advantage that Dean couldn't run from his questions. So far Dean had answered all his questions but Sam also knew that there were things Dean wasn't telling him.

Still deep in thoughts he didn't notice the man coming out of the diner until they literally crashed into each other. The cup of coffee the man was carrying got smashed between them, the rich aroma of the coffee instantly filling the air. Sam felt warm liquid soaking his shirts but the other man got it worse.

"I'm sorry." Sam jumped back, unsure what to do, while the man just stared at him. His whole front was dripping with coffee and he had splatters all over his face but he didn't seem to notice.

"I buy you a new one." Sam promised. "And I pay for the cleaning, of course." He reached for the door to let him back inside, the man probably wanted to go to the bathroom to clean up, but as soon as he raised his hand the man stepped back as if Sam was about to hit him.

"That's not necessary." The man said, still not acknowledging the coffee burning his skin, no doubt. His right hand was behind his back now and for a silly second Sam thought he would draw a gun on him.

The expression on his dark face was stone-cold but in his eyes Sam could read something like confusion. For a second they just stood there, staring at each other, and for some reason Sam was painfully aware of the fact that he was unarmed. He didn't know why he would need a gun but he really wanted one right now.

They were interrupted by a couple heading their way and they had to step aside to let them into the diner. The couple didn't even notice the stand-off they were walking into and for a second Sam wondered – feared? – what the other man would do. But then he just hurried over to his car, never leaving Sam out of his sight.

Sam watched him driving away and then followed the couple inside.

"Strange guy." He shook his head but didn't think much of it.

By the time he was back at the motel Dean was up and close to climbing the walls. He did try to hide that fact but Sam caught him pacing the room when he came in with their breakfast.

"Next time just wake me up when you want to go out for a morning stroll." Dean muttered but took the offered breakfast.

"I was only down the street." Sam defended his action. "I'm a big boy, I can handle a breakfast run."

"I can see that." Dean pointed at the coffee strains on his shirt.

"That was an accident." Sam pried the lid off his fruit salad and reached for the plastic fork. "Ran into a guy when I entered the diner. Dude, that guy was creepy."

"Creepy?" Dean perked up at that. "Creepy how?"

"Dunno." He chewed on a piece of pineapple. "He just stared at me as if he expected me to eat him alive or something."

"You can be pretty intimidating."

"Yeah, maybe."

They finished their breakfast and not long after that they way on the road again.

They made good time and Dean steered the car through a gate announcing Singer's Salvage Yard a bit after eight in the evening.

Cramped up in the car all day Sam was happy that they were finally there. His stomach grumbled and he was longing for a bed to stretch out but mostly he was nervous.

"We're here." Dean announced and parked the car in front of the house. It was too dark to see much but the light behind the curtains looked inviting.

"Let's do this." Sam gave him a shaky smile and rubbed his suddenly sweaty hands at his jeans.

By the time they got out of the car a man was standing in the open door. He looked older than in the picture but there was no doubt that this was the same man.

"Bobby." Dean greeted him with a hug.

"Good to see you, boy."

They parted and now Bobby's attention was on Sam.

"Sam." He stepped forward, obviously unsure how to greet him.

Sam had hoped that as soon as he saw the man he would remember him but this was still a stranger to him. So instead of a hug he held out his hand for a shake.

"Nice to meet you, sir."


	8. Chapter 8

"Nice to meet you, sir." Sam said and Bobby stopped cold. For a second he looked at the offered hand as if it was a cold fish before he reluctantly took it for a firm handshake.

"Screw this." The man muttered and drew Sam into a hug with his free arm, still holding on to his hand.

Sam uffed at the sudden embrace but didn't pull back. At first it was awkward, he didn't know the man hugging him, but then he took a breath and smelled the mixture of whiskey and Old Spice coming from him. It didn't trigger any memories, no luck there, but Sam felt himself relax a bit and answered the gesture by bringing up his own arm and hugging the man back.

They parted quickly and then stood a foot apart, without knowing what to do or say next.

"You want to stand out there all night?" Dean called from the door, taking pity on them. "Hope you have dinner ready, Bobby. I'm starving."

"You're always starving." Bobby yelled back without losing focus on Sam. A fond smile played around the older man's mouth and Sam couldn't help but join in.

"So it's true?" The smile died but his eyes kept their warmth when he looked at Sam. "You don't remember anything?"

"Sorry." Sam shrugged. He shifted from one foot to the other, painfully aware of the fact that this man stood between him and Dean and for some reason he didn't like that. Dean was the only person he knew and he trusted him, having him out of his reach felt just wrong.

As if he was sensing Sam's discomfort Dean came over, casually as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and nudged Sam in the shoulder.

"Get inside, I'll get our stuff."

Sam nodded and followed Bobby inside. Dean was not far behind him and with that everything became easier. So far Bobby seemed to be a nice guy, not that he could tell much after the minute he knew him, and Sam was willing to give this a try. According to Dean, this place was the closest thing they had to a home, aside from the car, and this man – Bobby – was almost like a father to them. If something was able to trigger his memory, it was this place and these people. Dean and Bobby, the only family he had left.

Inside the house Sam had a curious glance around while he followed the older man to the kitchen. The house was old and a bit dusty, it felt worn and lived in.

"You read a lot?" Sam asked when they passed a room that seemed to be the study. It was filled with books, stuffed shelves and piles of books on the floor and on every more or less vertical surface.

Bobby gave him a glance over his shoulder which Sam couldn't quite place.

"Everybody needs a hobby." He answered vaguely and then he looked past Sam to lock eyes with Dean, Sam assumed. He got the feeling that he man was silently asking Dean something but before he could ask, Dean dropped their bags with a loud thud right next to the door.

"You don't intend to keep them there, right?" Bobby asked sternly and Dean hurried to pick them back up.

"Those are heavy and I ain't getting younger." He protested weakly but sprinted up the stairs when Bobby just kept glaring at him.

"You usually take the guest room." Bobby explained with a nod up the stairs where Sam could see Dean disappearing on one room to the left. "That's basically your room since you were kids." He paused as if he waited for Sam to fill in something but he could only shrug.

"Maybe when I see the room." He said just to fill the silence. He doubted it, though. So far the car had triggered the only memory he had and he'd spent more time of his life in there than here.

"Sit down, dinner's ready in five." Bobby offered him a chair and turned to the stove.

While Bobby stired the stew or whatever was cooking in the pot, Sam couldn't help but study the man in front of him. There was nothing familiar about him but at least Sam felt welcomed.

They didn't speak but Bobby kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't know how much Dean told you." Sam said. "About my …" He gestured towards his own head.

"Only that you had it bad enough for a stay in the hospital." Bobby turned around, now openly taking him in. "That you have amnesia. He was pretty freaked out."

"I wasn't freaked out." Dean came into the kitchen, something close to embarrassment on his face. "He gets hit over the head, is totally out of it but the docs say it's all good. So I wrestle him out of the hospital and half-way to the next state he asks me who I am. How do you expect me to react?"

"You almost wrecked the car." Sam helped out.

"I did not almost wreck my car." Dean pointed his finger first at Sam and then at Bobby but neither of them took him serious.

Bobby gave Sam a grin and turned back to stirring the pot. It smelled delicious and now Sam's stomach grumbled in anticipation but his attention was on the two men in front of him. How easy and comfortable they interacted with each other.

Sam couldn't say much about himself and Bobby but it was obvious that Dean and Bobby knew each other for a long time.

Dean flopped down in the chair next to Sam and their eyes met for a moment. Silently Dean was asking him if he was okay and Sam could only nod with a little smile. This house and this man still didn't feel like home but he was good for now.

They ate and it was mostly Dean who filled the silence, talking about the odd questions Sam was asking now and all the stuff he had forgotten.

"Hey, I'm the guy with the amnesia. Shouldn't you be a bit more tactful?"

"No, this is hilarious." Dean said and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "And he's up to date with the hunting." He told Bobby. "No need for hiding anything."

Sam wondered what could probably be covered by _anything_ but Bobby beat him to that.

"You told him?" He hissed as if Sam wasn't sitting right next to him.

"Had to." Dean made a helpless gesture. "We sneaked out of the first hospital and used fake names for the second one. And then he was asking how he got injured. Questions were piling up. You know Sammy here." He nudged Sam comradely in the shoulder. "He needs answers and I couldn't risk him running away because he thought I was hiding something from him."

"And you just believed him?" Bobby asked.

"It made sense." Sam wasn't sure how he could explain why he believed Dean, why he trusted him. He just did. "You're also a hunter?"

"Bobby is more the go to guy when something you haven't seen before is chewing on your ass." Dean explains. "He's getting old."

"Watch it boy." Bobby growled but without heat behind the words.

"So, your books. I'm guessing that's not only a hobby."

"They're for research." Bobby confirmed. "Knowledge is everything in this business. Feel free to have a look around, you love skimming through my stuff."

"Thank you, sir."

"Sam." Bobby almost groaned and Dean snickered. "Skip the sir, I'm not your dad. Just call me Bobby."

Sam hadn't even noticed that he'd said that word, it came like a natural response to him, like he'd used it often in his life. But probably not to address Bobby.

"So dad was the sir kind of guy?" He guessed.

"Yeah, but you were never good at following that rule." Dean told him with a fond smile. Sam didn't know if he was thinking about their dad or Sam but the memories seemed to be good ones. Which reminded him of the fact that he didn't have memories whatsoever of their father or Bobby or anything else. The only thing he did remember was Dean in a coma and that wasn't exactly a fond memory.

After dinner they settled over to the study with a beer but when Sam followed the others, he stopped dead in this tracks two steps into the room.

Looking around he searched for the reason for the uneasy feeling in his stomach but he couldn't find anything. The room was stuffed with books and old furniture, some covered with a layer of dust, and there was nothing catching his eye that he found threatening or scary. But he couldn't bring himself to follow the others over to the couch.

"Sam?" Dean had noticed his hesitation. "You coming or what?"

"I ..." Sam licked his lips and then straightened up to just walk across the room. How hard could it be? Then something on the ceiling caught his eye. "What ...?"

"That's ..." Bobby started to explain but Sam interrupted him, he knew what this was.

"The Key of Salomon." He said, taking in the complex symbol. Aside from the name he had no idea what it was used for, though. He didn't feel comfortable walking under it so he made a step to the side and now he felt good again. As long as he didn't come too close to that thing.

"You fixed it." Sam sat down on the couch next to Dean and only then he noticed the other two staring at him. "What?"

"You remember that?" Dean and Bobby asked almost at the same time.

"What should I remember?" He looked up at the symbol but there was still nothing else he could connect to it than the name. And an uneasy feeling.

"It's a devil's trap." Dean explained, sharing a glance with Bobby. Whatever the story behind this was, it wasn't a good one, Sam got that much.

"Devil's trap." He repeated. "What? You trap the devil with it?" He was joking but in the back of his mind he had the feeling that his joke wasn't that far off.

"Not the devil, son." Bobby shook his head in clear amusement. "But his minions. Demons."

"Like …" Sam turned towards Dean. He'd heard about a demon before.

"Like the one that killed our parents and your girlfriend." Dean answered the unspoken question, his voice flat.

"But that ain't what happened here." Bobby spoke up but before he continued he locked eyes with Dean again as if he was asking permission to tell Sam what happened.

"Just tell me." Sam huffed out in frustration. "I'm not a child, you don't have to ask Dean if it's okay to tell me."

Caught Bobby cleared his throat awkwardly and made a point of not looking in Dean's direction. Instead he looked Sam in the eye.

"You were possessed." He finally said. "The demon was strong, it broke the trap."

"But we sent her skinny ass back to hell." Dean cut the story short.

"You tied me to a chair under it." Absently rubbing his forearm, Sam tried to picture it.

Sam heard himself screaming in his own head but he had no control over his body. Images gushed through his mind, just glimpses, nothing made sense. Then one memory came to the surface crystal-clear. Dean on the ground, face beaten and bloody. Sam saw himself reaching out, pressing his thumb into Dean's shoulder, digging into the gunshot wound. Dean in pain under him and that thing in his mind cackled in glee.

His fist coming down on Dean's face. Again and again and he knew he would beat his own brother to death and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Sam?" Dean's voice broke through his swirling mind. "Hey, Sammy. Breathe. Just breathe, it's okay, everything is okay."

Like a drowning man Sam breached the surface of his memories while the images tried to drag him back under.

"I beat you up." He croaked the words out, staring down at his hands. "I tried to kill you."


	9. Chapter 9

"No." Dean grabbed his head with both hands, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. "No, Sam. You didn't try to kill me."

"I remember." Sam said, his nose clogged and he was feeling close to tears. He tried to shake his head but Dean held it firmly in place.

"That wasn't you." Dean stated with a hard look in his eyes, clearly believing in Sam's innocence. "You were possessed. It was the demon who tried to kill me. Not you, Sam. Never you."

Sam forced himself to nod to that but the images swirling in his mind drew a different picture.

"Here, boy." Bobby spoke up, bringing a bottle of beer in his line of view. Sam had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. "This should help you calm down."

With a shaky hand he accepted the bottle but he was grateful for the break. For a moment he just held it in his hand but he felt Bobby's gaze on him so he finally took a sip just to satisfy the man.

Some of the tension he hadn't even realized had been there melted away when Bobby relaxed in his chair, enjoying his own beer.

"Do I want to know how I ended up possessed?" He asked because he really didn't know. Chances were good that the memory would come back on its own at some point but right now he was left with fragments out of context and he just couldn't make sense out of them.

"You went out for food and didn't come back." Dean said with a sigh. "You were gone for a week. She toyed with us. She's gone now."

That was a very clipped version of the story but Dean wasn't up for telling more, he could tell. The gone for a week part alone sent chills down Sam's spine. He didn't dare to imagine how he would feel with Dean just disappearing on him.

For a moment they sat in silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean finally said, a bit too cheerful, desperate to change the topic. "Remember when Dad dumped us here that one summer because I broke my leg?"

To that Bobby groaned. "Once you figured out how to use the crutches to swing you became a menace." He turned towards Sam. "One time he almost broke his neck when he tried to fall-swing down the stairs with only one contact."

"It almost worked." Dean protested.

Sam tried to picture it. Dean on the stairs, aiming for the middle with his crutches and hoping to land on his good foot at the bottom.

"You're insane, you know that, right?" Was all he could say to that.

"Don't get me started on who stood next to him, cheering him on." Bobby grumbled with a pointed look at Sam but with a fond smile on his lips.

Sam ducked his head to that, even if he didn't remember the incident, he felt ashamed for his younger self.

Sam knew what Dean was doing here, trying to trigger his memory without putting pressure on him. So Sam just leaned back and listened to Dean and Bobby talking about the past. It seemed like they had a lot of fun during their stays at Bobby's and over the next few hours Sam got an idea of why Dean had spoken so fondly of the other man.

"I don't know about you, man." Dean finally said and set his empty bottle aside. "But I'm beat. Time to turn in."

Sam's eyes had been dropping for a while now but he didn't want to go upstairs alone. It was silly, he knew that, but this house was unfamiliar and he didn't want to be all by himself in a room he didn't know.

If it had been a motel room he would have been in bed an hour ago but he was supposed to know this house, the guest room had been theirs since they had been kids, and for some reason that made it impossible for Sam to go upstairs alone.

"Yeah, me too." He agreed and then stood and stretched, body stiff from sitting for too long. He was really looking forward to stretch out in a bed. They said good night to Bobby and turned around to leave. Dean bumped him comradely in the shoulder but with enough force to make him stumble sideways.

"Dean." He shouted in surprise but then hurried to follow his grinning brother upstairs. Only on the stairs Sam realized that Dean's push had sent him right under the devil's trap.

"You did that on purpose." Sam said when they were lying in their bed with the lights out but their eyes still open. Over the last few minutes Sam had thought about that move and the implications behind it.

"Had to make sure." Was Dean's answer. Of course he knew what Sam was referring to.

"You thought I could be possessed?"

"Not very likely, you still have the tatt." Sam heard Dean turning in his bed and in the dim light he could see his brother facing him from the other side of the room. "But better safe than sorry."

"What if I was possessed?"

"You would have been stuck in the trap." Sam could hear the shrug in his voice. "Then we would have exorcized it."

"Easy as that?" Sam had accepted the supernatural as a part of his life but it was still strange to hear Dean talking about it as if being possessed was no big deal.

"We did it before." There was something in his voice, telling Sam that it wasn't as easy as Dean tried to make it look.

The fell silent and after a while Sam drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed but in the morning he couldn't really say what he'd dreamed about. Fragments out of context but he remembered smoke and a blond girl smiling at him.

"Do I know any blond girls?" He asked when Dean came back from the bathroom to get dressed. The way his brother froze half-bent over his beg with a t-shirt in his hand it was clear that the answer to the question was _yes_.

"Who is she?" Sam asked when Dean failed to answer. His brother was stalling by putting the shirt on.

"Jessica." He finally said but still with his back towards Sam. "She was your girlfriend."

Dean had told him about her before. Now the lingering smell of smoke made more sense. He hadn't known that he'd been close enough to smell the smoke, though.

"She was beautiful." He felt a vague pang of sadness when he brought her face back to his mind.

"Yes, she was." Dean sat down on his bed. "You loved her."

"Tell me more about her."

"I only met her once." Dean admitted. "She was fierce, strong-minded." A sad smile ghosted over his lips. "Had to be if she put up with you."

"She was my girlfriend, how come you only met her once?" That didn't make sense. He and Dean were inseparable, hell, he hadn't felt comfortable going to bed alone.

This was an uncomfortable topic, Sam could tell and for a moment he thought Dean would back out. But then he took a deep breath and started talking.

"You left for Stanford." He said. "Dad wasn't happy, told you to never come back. So you didn't."

"I would never leave you." The words were out of his mouth in a heartbeat. A quick, sure response which made it true.

"You were done hunting." Dean said with a hard tone in his voice. "You wanted a clean cut."

Sam shook his head, this wasn't right. He couldn't remember any of this but it didn't feel right.

"You're my brother, why would I want to leave you?"

"I was with Dad. I was still hunting." Dean gave him a half-shrug. "I was part of the life you wanted so desperately to get away from. And you were happy. You had your girlfriend, you were becoming a lawyer, you had a good life." His voice was flat now.

"It's not a good life without you." Sam said quietly.

The look Dean gave him now cut deep into Sam's soul. Emotions flashed over his brother's face but before Sam could identify them, they were gone.

"I didn't know you but I followed you out of the hospital." Sam reminded him. "I feel nervous every time you're out of my sight."

"Because I'm the only person you know."

"That's the point, I didn't know you." Sam emphasized the words, hoping Dean would understand. "But I still trusted you. You left such a huge impact that I still trusted you even if I couldn't remember you."

Dean didn't speak for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Then he stood up and rubbed his hands.

"Do you smell coffee? I smell coffee." And with that he was out of the door.

Sam bit back a laugh but he was pretty sure that Dean got he message and that was all that counted. Slower he followed his brother downstairs where indeed a fresh pot of coffee waited for them.

Over breakfast they discussed what they wanted to do with the day. The plan was to hang out here but Sam wasn't sure what to do with his free time.

Dean wanted to use the chance for a bit of maintenance work on his car, something Sam had found out wasn't his thing, which left Sam on his own.

On one hand he was grateful that Dean wasn't constantly hovering over him but he still felt a bit like an intruder in this house even if Bobby insisted that he was not.

"Do whatever you like." Bobby told him with an inviting gesture towards the study. "Just leave my notes alone, I'm working on something there."

Sam nodded to that but he wouldn't have touched the other man's notes anyway. He wouldn't like somebody going through his stuff either.

Sam helped Bobby with the dishes, for some reason Dean wasn't in sight anymore at that point, and after that they settled in the study. Bobby returned to his work and Sam took his time roaming the shelves. For now he just wanted to get a feeling for what Bobby was reading. You can tell a lot about people by the books they read and what he found here told him that he would really like Bobby.

"You loved this when you were a kid." Sam hadn't notice Bobby coming over with a book in his hand. The book was worn and dog-eared and it had gotten wet at some point and when Sam took it he almost feared it would fall apart in his hands.

"Anne of Green Gables?" He read the title with a frown but Bobby just shrugged with a knowing smile.

With nothing else to do he gave the book a try. He made himself comfortable on the couch and after the first page he knew that he'd read this before. He couldn't tell what would happen next in the book but it felt familiar, like coming home. And soon it dawned on him why he'd like this book so much as a kid. A simple, normal life with ordinary problems. He didn't know much about his own childhood but it had been the opposite of normal, that much he knew.

So when Bobby later announced that he wanted to drive into town for a supply run Sam declined his offer to join him. He was content with just sitting here with his book.

Bobby left and Dean was still outside working on his car so Sam was alone when the vision hit.


	10. Chapter 10

A lance of pain shot through Sam's skull bringing him to his knees. Clutching his head with both hands he tried to breathe through the pain while images flashed in his mind. This wasn't like with the memories, this was different and not only because of the pain splitting his head open. This couldn't be a memory because he knew for sure that Dean wasn't dead.

He drowned in images, too much, too fast, but he had to hold on to it. He had to.

"Sammy!" A voice pierced through the fog of pain, pulling him back, but he didn't want to let go, he needed to remember every little detail. Because Dean wasn't dead yet and if he could just remember enough of this he would be able to save him, he knew that. So Sam welcomed the pain, forced himself to look what the vision showed him.

"Sammy, c'mon, man." There were arms around him, holding him tight. The last image faded and the real world came into view again. Through watery eyes he tried to figure out where he was and what just happened.

"You with me again?" The voice, Dean, continued and Sam managed a nod. He was on the floor in Bobby's study. His book had slipped under the couch and for a moment he just focused on that, not ready to deal with the rest just yet.

Dean was kneeling next to him, still holding him and for a second Sam just leaned into him. He was alive. Dean was alive.

"Sam?"

"'M good." He mumbled and sighed in relief when the pain finally left him. Now he felt just tired but he couldn't sleep, not now. Not when Dean was about to die.

"Okay, up you go." Dean announced when Sam failed to move on his own. With a practiced move Dean hauled him off the ground and dropped him on the couch. "I'm guessing that wasn't another memory." He said it with a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder, patiently waiting for him to come around.

"You didn't tell me that visions are this painful." Sam muttered. For another moment he let his head hang and enjoyed the comforting contact of Dean's hand on his shoulder. Dean's warm and alive hand on his shoulder.

"What did you see?" Dean ask gently and sat down next to him.

"I saw you." Sam swallowed against his dry throat. "On the ground. I think ... you weren't moving and there was blood."

Dean didn't say a word but the hand on his shoulder tightened. It wasn't painful, though, quite the opposite. Sam was still amazed how grounding a simple touch like this from Dean could be.

"What else did you see?" He finally asked.

"I ... it doesn't make sense." He shook his head while he tried to bring the images in his mind into an order.

"These visions are tied to the demon." Dean revealed a fact he had kept to himself until now. "Your vision always show you something involving somebody like you. What else did you see?"

"There was this man." He tried to bring his face into focus. It was vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. "He had a gun. And I ... he shot you and then he shot me." He paused, replaying the scene in his head. A construction side, raw wooden beams and plastic tarp, Dean's body on the ground. He heard his own voice echoing in his head, screaming in denial. And then a man stepped around the corner and raised his gun at him.

"It's over, Sam." The man said. The gunshot rang in Sam's ears.

Sam had thought that seeing his own death would scare him more but that wasn't what bothered him about the vision. It was Dean's death which shook him to the core. Dean couldn't die. Sam wouldn't let him die. Not that he was telling Dean that. Instead he described every little detail he could remember from the vision. If they wanted to prevent this from happening, they needed as much information as they could get.

Dean listened to him without interrupting. And he kept his hand on Sam's shoulder. Only when Sam had finished the hand left and Dean turned a little so he could face him.

"This man." He said after a moment. "He your age?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "He was older." He paused. "Why would he be my age?"

Now it was Dean's time to sigh. Beyond the fact that Sam could get visions they hadn't talked much about this but now it became clear that Dean knew more about them than he had let on about earlier.

"This demon." Dean started. "He did something to you and other like you. All born in '83."

Sam nodded to that. "And you think the man who's going to shoot us ..." He had to stop there, this thought was just too insane. "He's one of them? Of us? Why?"

That seemed to be the question of the day. Why? Sam felt like a toddler, driving his parents nuts with those questions, but he needed to know. And for once Dean seemed willing to talk.

"You get visions. Others have other abilities." Dean washed his hand down his face. "Some went dark side."

There was a beat of silence. Sam didn't like the implications behind that. Would he go dark side? What did that even mean?

"There was this kid, Max, he killed his whole family." Dean said in a flat tone without looking at Sam. "He had a shitty life, I get that, but what he did ..."

"That was one." Sam tried to reason with him. He didn't even know how many like him were out there. One out of a hundred wasn't that much. One out of ten one the other hand ...

"There is more." Dean shook his head. "There were these twins, separated at birth, they didn't know each other." Dean started the next story and Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it. "One turned out okay but the other one ... he killed a whole bunch of people before we could stop him."

_Stop him_ had a very final ring to it. Sam swallowed thickly.

"So you're saying that I could turn out a killer was well?" He asked quietly.

Dean flinched as if he'd hit him.

"No!" He almost yelled the word. "That's not you, you're not a killer."

"I don't know." Because he really didn't know. For all he knew he could have been a serial killer before he'd woken up in that hospital bed without his memory. "Our job sounds pretty violent to me." He only half-joked. He didn't really know what their job was like. Apparently they _stopped_ bad people.

"We kill monsters." Dean stated firmly and locked eyes with him. "There is a clear line and we don't cross it. You've never crossed it."

_And you?_, was the question on the tip of Sam's tongue but he didn't ask. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"Anyway." Dean ended the moment with a short shake of his head. "This man who's going to shoot you. What does he look like?"

There was no doubt in his voice that what Sam had seen was about to happen. But there was confidence in there as well that they would stop this before they both ended up dead. The promise that Dean would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening. Something loosened in Sam's chest.

"A black guy. Older than us." Sam tried to bring his face back. "I've seen him before."

"Like before before?" Dean perked up at that.

"No." Sam shook his head, trying to place the face.

_C'mon, Sam_, he encouraged himself. _There ain't that many people you know._

"Coffee." The word burst out of him which got him a confused look from Dean.

"You want coffee?" Dean asked still puzzled.

"No, that's where I've seen him before." Now he remembered the incident. "I ran into him when I got breakfast. Spilled his coffee. Told you he was a creep."

"Your definition of creepy is a bit off at the moment." Dean teased him but became serious the next second. "Anything else you remember about him?"

Chewing his bottom lip Sam thought about the encounter. "He looked spooked, at least at first. Then he seemed angry. As if he knew me." That realization hit him like a train. How could he have missed that? The guy knew him.

"He knew you?" Dean sounded as surprised as Sam felt. "In your vision, he used your name." The last bit was more thinking loud than anything else.

"I don't know if it's important." There was something else he remembered about their encounter.

"Everything is important." Dean assured him. "Did you hear something or smelled something weird maybe?"

"No, nothing like that." Sam tried to recall how he'd felt back then. "We had some kind of stand-off in front of the diner and I really wished I had a gun." He paused and for the first time he wondered how that would have ended if they hadn't been interrupted. "I think he had one."

Dean was silent for a moment but Sam could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"Son of a bitch." Dean jumped up, startling Sam but before he could asked, Dean was over at the desk and at Bobby's computer.

"What is it?" Slower, he still felt a bit weak in the knees, Sam followed him while Dean was punching the keyboard.

"This the guy you saw?" He pointed at the screen.

Sam wasn't sure if he would recognize him from the diner alone but in his vision he had a very good look at his face.

"That's him. I'm sure." He squinted at the screen. He did remember the face from earlier but nothing from before he'd lost his memory. "Who is he?" The fact that he was looking at this man's mugshot didn't help to ease his mind.

"Gordon Walker." Dean said it with disgust dripping from the words. "The biggest asshole on the planet. And he has a personal vendetta against you."

"Why?" Sam couldn't shake off the lingering images from the vision. The hatred he'd seen in the other man's eyes. To get Sam he was willing to kill Dean as well, just because he was in the way, Sam didn't need Dean to lay that one out to him. This Walker guy was dangerous.

"Because he's insane." Dean huffed with an angry wave at the picture on the screen. "He thinks you're the Antichrist."

Taken aback Sam didn't know what to say.

He thought of the others who went rogue, the ones who needed to be stopped. He could tell how worried Dean was. And he was pretty sure that Dean was still holding back something important.

"Am I?" He finally asked. "The Antichrist?" Which by itself was ridiculous.

"What? No. Of course not." Dean answered a bit too quickly. Catching himself Dean took a deep breath. "Sam, I know you. You're not evil. And you won't turn evil."

Sam didn't remember anything like this but the conversation felt familiar. As if they had an argument like this before. Often enough for Sam to still kind of remember it.

"But the others …"

"You have one advantage the others didn't have." Dean locked eyes with him. "You have me."

For some reason Sam felt better now. A smile ghosted over his lips.

"We know that Gordon is coming so he can't surprise us anymore." Dean sounded confident and Sam wondered how often they had actually managed to prevent his visions from happening. He didn't dare to ask.

Suddenly Dean started to snicker.

"What?" Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, you spilled coffee over Gordon frigging Walker."


	11. Chapter 11

"What are we going to do now?" Sam asked. He just had a vision of Dean's and his own death and he had no idea how to deal with that. Knowing that the person coming for them was insane didn't really help either.

"We lay low." Dean answered, the smile dying on his lips. "And we stick together, no splitting up."

"I get the feeling that there is a story behind that." Sam observed but he had no intention to leave Dean's side anyway.

"Last time he got the drop on me and used me as bait." Dean admitted after a moment of hesitation. He let out a huff and craded his fingers through his hair. "This time we'll be more careful."

Sam didn't point out that Gordon was probably counting on that. Not that he actually knew the guy but if his plan had failed last time he most likely would come up with something else.

"And I want you to have your gun." Dean interrupted his thoughts.

"My what?"

"Your gun." Dean repeated.

"I never had a gun in my hands." Sam said, the thought alone made him feel sick. Could he actually use a gun? On a person? The image of Dean lying in his own blood on the floor was vivid in his mind but he wasn't sure if he could pull the trigger.

"You have. A million times." Dean reassured him. "You're a crap shot but you can hold a gun."

Sam smacked him in the shoulder.

"Come outside." Dean jerked his head in the direction of the door. "The weapons are in the trunk."

"The trunk?" Sam hurried to catch up with him. So far Dean hadn't shown him the weapons, hadn't even mentioned them, and Sam hadn't asked. He had known that they didn't hunt monsters with their bare hands but there had been so much other stuff on his mind that he hadn't really thought about this.

"What if you get pulled over?" He hissed as if a police officer could pop out of thin air to arrest them.

Dean just smirked at him.

Curious Sam followed him outside, wrecking his brain if he'd seen the weapons Dean was talking about, but he hadn't really looked in the trunk so far.

"A false bottom." Sam nodded in approval when Dean opened the trunk and then reached for the hidden latch. "Smart." However, when Sam got a good look at the things inside the hidden compartment, he stumbled backwards.

"Holy shit." Looking around frantically if somebody was watching them Sam felt the urge to just slam it close and to never open it again. When Dean had said weapons he'd thought about a hand gun or two. Maybe a knife. A shotgun like he'd seen in the house. But this was insane. This was an arsenal. Dean was equipped for a war.

_We are equipped for a war,_ his mind corrected. Was that an assault rifle?

"Sam." Dean was at his side in a heartbeat but Sam shrugged his comforting hand off his shoulder.

"I ..." He didn't know what to say. Had he been stupid? He had trusted Dean blindly right from the beginning. Even when he had no idea who the other man was he'd followed him like a gullible puppy. Now he wasn't so sure anymore if Dean deserved his trust. This looked more like the tools of a serial killer than a monster hunter if he was honest. Not that he knew what kind of tools a monster hunter would have in his arsenal.

That one knife case looked like it belonged to Dexter Morgan, though.

And Dean had said they needed to _stop_ others like him if they went dark side. Human kids.

_How do you decide where to draw the line?_, he wondered. Was Dean any better than Gordon?

_Am I better than Gordon?_

"Sam?" Dean ducked his head to look him in the eye. "You with me?"

Sam only nodded, not looking at the car, and tried to compose himself.

"Memory?" Dean asked with sympathy in his voice.

"No." He shook his head, his own voice sounded strange in his ears. "It's just ..." He had no idea how to describe the uneasy feeling in his guts.

Glancing back over his shoulder Dean seemed to get what the problem was.

"Yeah." He tried again to lay his hand on Sam's shoulder and this time he welcomed the touch. "Want me to show you what this is all for?"

"Do we have time for that?" Sam asked, not sure how soon the vision would become reality. If it would become reality. He was determined to not let that happen. And if he needed a gun for that so be it. He straightened and stepped back to the car.

"I don't know." Dean answered his question and stood beside him. "Sometimes there is almost no time between your vision and when it actually happens, sometimes we have a day or two." He shrugged but there was something in his posture that caught Sam's attention.

"What?" He asked so focused on Dean that he took the gun the other man was offering to him without a second thought.

"It's just." Dean hesitated, clearly debating with himself if he should tell Sam what was on his mind or not. "Nothing."

"Dean." Sam insisted and inserted the clip in the gun without losing focus on Dean. "What is it?"

Sam didn't know what he'd seen in other visions. Maybe this was just the thought of his own possible death that was on Dean's mind, for sure it was on Sam's mind. Nobody liked to think about their own death.

"Your visions." Dean finally said. "They always involve one of the kids like you."

"You said that before." Sam reminded him.

Dean kept his eyes on his hands which were busy loading his own gun.

"This is the first time you saw something regarding yourself." With more force than necessary he closed the trunk.

"What does that mean?" Sam followed him deeper into the junk yard. Dean walked in front of him, shoulders tense and with an angry stride, he had to hurry to keep up with him.

"I don't know." Dean tried to say it as if it wasn't really important but Sam couldn't shake off the feeling that Dean was scared. Not for himself, not because he could die. Because of what might happen to Sam.

"Okay, let's see if you still can handle a gun." Dean stopped at the last outskirts of Bobby's property and nodded towards an old wreck of a car. "Try to hit the door."

Sam looked down at the gun in his hand, only now fully realizing that he had it in his hand the whole time. And that he'd loaded it.

Setting his jaw he placed his feet firmly on the ground and raised the gun. He could do this. If he wanted to save Dean he needed to do this.

The gun felt heavy in his hand and he stabilized his aim with the other one. Yeah, that felt better. Taking a deep breath he pointed the gun at the door. It wasn't far away and it was a rather big target, he could do this.

Body tense in anticipation of the recoil he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"You have to switch the safety off." Dean said with barely concealed amusement.

"Oh. Right." Sam fumbled with the gun, trying to flick the safety off without accidentally pulling the trigger.

"Here." Dean showed him how to do it but that didn't really boost his confidence in this. "Relax, your body knows what to do."

It sounded like some Yoda crap but Sam forced himself to relax. He had inserted the clip without even noticing, his body did remember, so maybe …

Dean stepped behind him, giving Sam a clear line of fire.

Sam rolled his shoulders and raised the gun again. Then he slowly moved his finger. This time the gun fired.

The force of the recoil caught him by surprise and he almost dropped the gun.

"Did I hit it?" He asked when he'd found his footage again.

"You hit the car." Dean offered.

Sam followed his line of sight to a small hole in the heck of the car. Not even near the door he'd been aiming for.

Nodding to himself he took aim once again. He could do better than this. He needed to do better than this.

Dean didn't say a word and was just a silent presence behind him but Sam felt the confidence he had in Sam's shooting skills.

With the next shot he managed to at least hit the door. A smile crept on his lips and he fired again. And missed the door entirely.

"Stop thinking so hard." Dean spoke up behind him. "Just shoot at he center of the door."

"Okay." For the next try he didn't waste any time with aiming. He just lifted his arms, hands firmly on the gun, and fired. Only giving himself a second to steady his aim after the shot he fired again. And again.

"That's my boy." Dean cheered when he finally lowered the gun and flicked the safety back on.

Sam couldn't help the sheepish grin when he looked at the perforated door. Not all of his shots were dead center but most of them were close. If he'd been aiming for a person's chest said person would be in serious trouble right now. The smile died on his lips at that thought, Gordon Walker's face coming back to mind.

"Let's go back inside." Dean suggested and Sam slipped the gun in his waistband as if it belonged there. Together they walked back, neither of them saying a word. Sam was lost in his own thoughts. His body did remember how to handle a gun, there was no denying that, but he wasn't sure what to make out of that.

"What are we going to do now?" He asked when they'd entered the house. For some reason he felt better the second the door closed behind them.

"We stay inside." Dean answered and judging by the way his shoulders lost their tension he felt more safe inside as well. "Stick together." He shrugged. "Stay away from construction sides, I guess."

Sam forced a laugh out at that but he didn't feel at ease, not one bit.

"And keep your gun at hand. Don't hesitate to use it if that son of a bitch shows his face, we're done playing nice with him." Dean almost growled the last words.

There wasn't much they could do except for waiting for Gordon's next move. Sam sat down on the couch but didn't even try to go back to his book while Dean was pacing the room like a caged tiger.

If his vision had been about somebody else they would be on their way to save somebody, or stop somebody, a mean little voice in the back of his mind provided, but this way it was better to let Gordon come for them.

"What about the other weapons?" Sam asked more to fill the silence than anything else. "You said you would explain them to me."

"What do you want to know?" Dean stopped his pacing.

"There's a lot of stuff in the trunk." Sam still wondered how the false bottom even closed with all that stuff cramped in the hidden compartment. "We really need all of that?"

"Sure." Dean leaned against the desk.

They spent the next hour with discussing the content of their arsenal. At least it kept their mind off Gordon for a while. Waiting was the worst.

The variety of things they were prepared for did surprise Sam but he got the feeling that most of the weapons were added after they had an unprepared encounter with a monster.

"There's a lot of stuff out there we haven't seen yet." Dean said with something close to excitement in his voice.

"You're just looking forward to killing something exotic."

"At the moment I'm looking forward to killing Gordon Walker." His face went stone-cold. It sent shivers down Sam's spine.

He checked his watch just to get away from that look.

"Shouldn't Bobby be back by now?"


End file.
